make me wish I'd never left. Make me wish I could see him, even if only for a minute. And he'd said he wanted to leave town. I should have mentioned him coming here when I wrote back but I didn't. I could kick myself now. Perfect opportunity missed. Damn me and my bloody issues. I should have asked him here, told him he was welcome any time. Then again, there's always the phone call in a bit. Yeah right, like I'm going to find it easier to say . Fuck.
Me resting here like this, head on the sofa arm, legs crossed...anyone looking through the window would think I had it made. Single bloke, no one telling me what to do, no one expecting anything of me once I get home and close the front door. Funny how we think like that when we know from our own experiences that everyone has stuff they wrestle with. Everyone has problems they'd like to get rid of. Everyone has things they'd like to say but can't. Fear of rejection, that's my problem, and no amount of reassurance from Ryan will change that. I do know I need to tell him things but...
The phone rings, startling me even though I've been waiting for it. I press the answer button, smiling at seeing Ryan's name on the small screen. “All right?"
"Yeah, you?"
God, his voice just makes everything all better. Right .
"Yeah, not too bad. Tired. Glad it's the weekend.” I pause, willing myself to come out and say something, anything so he knows I want him here. “Glad you rang.” Shit, that wasn't what I meant to say, but it'll have to do.
"I was a bit worried you'd be pissed off with me."
His voice hums through me, burning everything away. The bad thoughts. The insecurities. The loneliness. “Why?"
"Me mentioning Trevor and your mum in that email."
I frown. “Didn't you get my reply?"
"Shit. That would help, wouldn't it? I didn't check for one. Just ate my dinner, showered, then rang you. Hang on and I'll pull it up."
Scuffles sound, like he's wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder, and I can see him doing it, face all scrunched up as he concentrates. “I didn't say much. Just bullshit mainly. You didn't upset me anyway."
"Ah, right. I see that now."
He mumbles my written words, and I imagine him in his darkened room, the monitor glow highlighting his cheekbones, his jaw, and damn, I want him. Want him here where I can touch and kiss and smell and fuck. My cock hardens, tenting up my joggers, and I loose an unsteady breath to try and calm my racing heart. He does this to me every time. I open my mouth to tell him, explain what I'm feeling while I'm feeling it. Shyness, the inability to express my emotions, and the clearing of his throat stops me.
"Read it,” he says, voice catching. “I miss you, man."
I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, and clamp my teeth together to stop myself blurting everything out. Silence rules the line for a moment, then his breathing triggers me into speaking.
"Miss you too. I...I...had a shit day at work myself too.” Fuck, I didn't mean to say that.
"Yeah? You got a guy at your place like I have at mine?"
I laugh. “Nah, just had a crap day. Friday and all that. Wanting to get out of that place. What are you up to this weekend? Anything?” Please say you'll come here. Please tell me you'll get on a coach and spend two days with me .
"Doing a lot of fuck all, to be honest.” He pauses, then, “Actually, scrap that. Just remembered I need to help Dad paint his living room. He moved out, didn't he, what with them getting divorced. Shit, I still can't get over that. Thought they'd be set for life, but people change, don't they? And Mum hasn't said whether she knows I'm doing it or not—not that she'd mind. He's still my dad. I haven't seen her for a few days. Must pop round there really. And I need to clean this shit-hole up. Living on your own sucks like that.” He sighs. “Painting isn't something I really want to do, but hey, saves me being bored. Like I told you the other night, I've given up going clubbing.
Me resting here like this, head on the sofa arm, legs crossed...anyone looking through the window would think I had it made. Single bloke, no one telling me what to do, no one expecting anything of me once I get home and close the front door. Funny how we think like that when we know from our own experiences that everyone has stuff they wrestle with. Everyone has problems they'd like to get rid of. Everyone has things they'd like to say but can't. Fear of rejection, that's my problem, and no amount of reassurance from Ryan will change that. I do know I need to tell him things but...
The phone rings, startling me even though I've been waiting for it. I press the answer button, smiling at seeing Ryan's name on the small screen. “All right?"
"Yeah, you?"
God, his voice just makes everything all better. Right .
"Yeah, not too bad. Tired. Glad it's the weekend.” I pause, willing myself to come out and say something, anything so he knows I want him here. “Glad you rang.” Shit, that wasn't what I meant to say, but it'll have to do.
"I was a bit worried you'd be pissed off with me."
His voice hums through me, burning everything away. The bad thoughts. The insecurities. The loneliness. “Why?"
"Me mentioning Trevor and your mum in that email."
I frown. “Didn't you get my reply?"
"Shit. That would help, wouldn't it? I didn't check for one. Just ate my dinner, showered, then rang you. Hang on and I'll pull it up."
Scuffles sound, like he's wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder, and I can see him doing it, face all scrunched up as he concentrates. “I didn't say much. Just bullshit mainly. You didn't upset me anyway."
"Ah, right. I see that now."
He mumbles my written words, and I imagine him in his darkened room, the monitor glow highlighting his cheekbones, his jaw, and damn, I want him. Want him here where I can touch and kiss and smell and fuck. My cock hardens, tenting up my joggers, and I loose an unsteady breath to try and calm my racing heart. He does this to me every time. I open my mouth to tell him, explain what I'm feeling while I'm feeling it. Shyness, the inability to express my emotions, and the clearing of his throat stops me.
"Read it,” he says, voice catching. “I miss you, man."
I close my eyes, take in a deep breath, and clamp my teeth together to stop myself blurting everything out. Silence rules the line for a moment, then his breathing triggers me into speaking.
"Miss you too. I...I...had a shit day at work myself too.” Fuck, I didn't mean to say that.
"Yeah? You got a guy at your place like I have at mine?"
I laugh. “Nah, just had a crap day. Friday and all that. Wanting to get out of that place. What are you up to this weekend? Anything?” Please say you'll come here. Please tell me you'll get on a coach and spend two days with me .
"Doing a lot of fuck all, to be honest.” He pauses, then, “Actually, scrap that. Just remembered I need to help Dad paint his living room. He moved out, didn't he, what with them getting divorced. Shit, I still can't get over that. Thought they'd be set for life, but people change, don't they? And Mum hasn't said whether she knows I'm doing it or not—not that she'd mind. He's still my dad. I haven't seen her for a few days. Must pop round there really. And I need to clean this shit-hole up. Living on your own sucks like that.” He sighs. “Painting isn't something I really want to do, but hey, saves me being bored. Like I told you the other night, I've given up going clubbing.
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